


Scratch and Grounder On The Road!

by Monaro



Category: Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog (Cartoon), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23642065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monaro/pseuds/Monaro
Summary: A short commission awarded to me. "Write Scrounder on a road trip, because you like cars!"Can do, sir!After being laid off by Robotnik, America's favorite dynamic duo gets into a little trouble with the law.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Scratch and Grounder On The Road!

“Hey, uh… Scratch?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we?”

The two were hauling ass across the desert in a convertible, acquired in less-than-reputable circumstances. A red Cadillac- a big one- ferried them across a wide-open stretch of highway to an uncertain future.

Scratch cackled. “Beats me!” The car hummed along, doing a hundred ten with the top down. “Pretty bitchin’ car, though, huh?”

Grounder giggled. “Yeah!..” He crawled up and over the passenger seat- he’d been sitting in the back- to park his butt on the seat next to Scratch, who gave him a shove and a scowl; the car swerved a little bit. “Hey, watch the road!”

_ “You _ watch your  _ treads,  _ this leather’s  _ immaculate! _ ”

“Scratch, what does  _ emaculent _ mean?”

“It means, “too good to be wasted on a bolt-brain like you”!”

Grounder looked at the floor, distraught. “Oh… O-okay….” His eyes flickered to a couple of nobs. “Can I play with the radio?”

“Sure, knock yourself out.”

Grounder fiddled with it for a few minutes, before settling on some midtempo pop, beginning to bop side to side to the beat.

Scratch gave him a sidelong glance. “... What the hell’s this?”

“It’s Vegas Road, Scratch! It’s only my most favorite song in the whole wide world!”

Scratch paused, listening- the beat was gluten-free; the drums and rhythm track were composed entirely of samples, or were keyboard. A mellow female voice crooned about trains flying along in the desert. It was completely innocuous in every way, utterly bland; to Grounder, it was a work of art, and Scratch found he could bop to it too.

_ It don’t matter when we get there, _

_ The fun just started at the side of the road, oh no! _

Scratch stuck his wing out the window, sailing it. “It is good to be alive, isn’t it?”

Grounder considered the question. “Are we?”

“...Are we what?”

“Are we alive?”

Scratch thumped him in the shoulder hard. “Lead-head, of course we’re alive!.. I mean,  _ look _ at us! We’re here, right now, right?”

“Yeah, but-... but what are we?”

“We’re robots! I’m a robot chicken, and you’re a robot… robot..!”

“Wouldn’t that make you a cyborg?”

Scratch held the bridge of his beak. “Maybe?”

“...So…?”

“Sew buttons, what’s your point, Grounder?”

“Like, what if we aren’t alive? What if what… what we think is us being alive is us, just… I mean, we’re not  _ organic!” _

“But, I’m organic!... I mean, I’m a cyclops chicken!..”

Grounder folded his arms out- Scratch wasn’t making any sense anymore. “But… you’ve got two eyes!”

“Eyes enough to see the world around me!... We’re _alive!_ _You’re_ the one asking too many questions!”

Grounder decided it was time to ask another question. “Yeah?! Well… What are we gonna do now?”

Scratch patted his stomach compartment. “ _ I’m _ gonna stop over and oil my samoflange!... I’d suggest you flip the circuit-breaker in that tin pot you call your brain before you short out!”

Grounder shook his head. “Nonononoooo, in general!... Like… we were built ‘ta do one thing… hunt hedgehogs, right? And now we can’t do that!”

“Because Robotnik was right,” Scratch retorted, “We suck at hunting hedgehogs!”

“Even so… even so, that was.. Like, the only thing we did!... What are we gonna do now?”

Scratch considered for a moment, overhauling a farm truck at tremendous speed. “...Whatever we  _ wanna _ do!”

Grounder scratched his head. “But… it was never about that before… it was about hunting Sonic!”

Scratch hit him again, this time over the back of the head; it was open-handed and light, but it made his little 64-bit brain rattle. “Because that’s what the  _ boss  _ wanted for us! Try playing baseball, pinhead!”

“But, I dunno how to play baseball…!”

“Exactly!.. Neither do I!... Whenever we try and do something the first time, it’s super hard! But, when we practice… We get better!”

Grounder considered for a moment, before a light literally went on in his head. “Ohhh! I geddit!... So, if we practice livin’ free… We’ll get bedder add it?”

Scratch guffawed. “Exactly!.. Just look at me! I’ve been out here five minutes, and I already got us a car!...”

Grounder beamed. “And a good car at ‘dat!”

Big brother beamed right back. “It’s high-flying for us now, Grounder! We made it!”

\--

“IN THERE!”

The two had escaped by the length of a whisker- Their car was gone, they’d stuffed it into a telephone pole six hours ago, and wandered into a town to try lunch- after all, they hardly ate, why not sample Mobian food?

They were just about to cut out- after all, they had no money to pay- when a Deputy sheriff came in, looking for them- turns out he’d heard about the carjacking. Grounder stomped his foot with a tread, but failed to disarm him, and took a .38 round between the eyes. Thankfully, there wasn’t much up there, and they’d fled out back..

Then, they’d decided to take the cop car.

“God damn it!” Somebody tripped in the gravel nearby. A flashlight bounced and rolled under the freight car, right next to them..

Grounder, instinctively, grabbed it and threw it out to the man… An old balding Mobian hog, who looked right at them.

“Grounder, you dumbass,” hissed Scratch.

Immediately, the man started squealing. “THERE! THEY’RE UNDER THE CARS!”

They scrambled out quick- just in time, as the train started to move- in a big, jerking motion.. It was long, it’d take them a while.

They began to run alongside- they could be brilliant at times.. And here, Grounder, had a flash of genius.

He had a blaster attachment- he popped it out, and shot the lock off a big boxcar.. Scratch slid open the door, and Grounder hopped in, as the train began to pick up speed.

“Hey… Hey, Grounder, gimme a hand!”

The bot cackled. “Who’s a dumbass  _ now _ , bird brain?”

From somewhere behind, a rifle cracked off, and Scratch squawked. “Come on, please! I take it back!”

Grounder extended a hand, and with a smirk of satisfaction, yanked big brother in… They slid the door closed to a crack, and settled in a bale of hay…

“Eugh… can you smell that?” Scratch held his nostrils.

“Uh… no, I don’t have a nose…”  
  
“Smells like… cow shit, or… fertilizer..”  
  
“You’re in a livestock car,” a third voice added in a Bronx accent, “I’d be worried if it _didn’t_ smell shitty.”

The two turned, to find a familiar face in the corner, smoking a cigarette; both exclaimed in unison:

“COCONUTS?!”

The monkey-bot sighed, blowing his smoke out the window. “Welcome to the open road, fellas… Settle in boys; ‘s’gonna be a rough ride.”


End file.
